Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

He was surprised to see the magician’s assistant sitting on a stool at the foot of the stairway. No longer in her glittering costume, she appeared years older, her face lined, her hair lusterless.

The magician, too, slumped on a stool next to her. The change in him was even more striking. With his make-up removed, he was just a bald, middle-aged man with heavy bags under his eyes- his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, and shoelaces undone. The aura of possibility that surrounded him on stage was gone. But they appeared relaxed, at ease, sharing a large cup of pink-colored drink. Probably they were a couple. They had to play their role, Chen reflected as he lit his cigarette, on whatever stage they managed to land. When the curtain fell, they stepped out of the limelight and out of their roles.

The world is a stage-or all sorts of stages.

So with everybody.

So with Guan.

She, too, had to play her role in politics, but it was little wonder that she had decided to play a different character in her private life.

His cigarette had been consumed without his awareness.

“Everything is wonderful,” Rosenthal said, when they met again in the cabin.

“Were you enjoying a moment of privacy?” Vicky asked.

“Well, “privacy” is a word that is difficult to translate into Chinese.”

He had stumbled over it several times. There was not a single-word equivalent to “privacy” in his language. Instead, he had to use a phrase or sentence to convey its meaning.

On their way back to the hotel, Rosenthal asked about the schedule for the evening.

“Well, there’s nothing special for dinner tonight,” Chen said. “It is listed as ‘no activity,’ so you can decide for yourselves. Around eight thirty, we’re going to the Xishuang Garden in the hotel for a karaoke party.”

“Great,” Rosenthal said, “so it can be our turn to treat you to dinner. Choose a good Chinese restaurant.”

Chen suggested Moscow Suburb.

It was not just because he had promised Overseas Chinese Lu to dine there after numerous phone invitations. There might be some new message from Peiqin. His accompanying the Americans would not appear suspicious to Internal Security, and it would bring some business to Lu. Afterward, he could even write a short article about “The Rosenthals in Shanghai,” mentioning Moscow Suburb.

And Moscow Suburb proved to be as splendid as Lu had promised. With its castlelike front, golden dome, and fully landscaped sides, Lu had totally transformed the appearance of the originally shabby restaurant as if by magic. A tall, blond, Russian girl stood at the gate, greeting the customers, her slender waist supple like a young birch tree in a Russian folk song popular in the sixties.

“It seems the current economic reforms are really transforming China,” Rosenthal said.

Chen nodded. Entrepreneurs like Lu were springing up, as in an old Chinese saying, “like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.” One of the most popular slogans nowadays was xiang qian kan. A play on Chinese pronunciation, it meant: “Look to the money!” In the seventies, with the character qian written differently, the slogan had been “Look to the future!”

Gorgeous Russian girls were walking around in their miniskirts and the restaurant was doing a booming business. Every table was occupied. Several foreigners were dining there.

The Rosenthals and Chen were seated in a private room. The tablecloth gleamed snow white, glasses shimmered under highly polished chandeliers, and the heavy silverware could have been used by czars in the Winter Palace.

“Reserved for special guests,” Lu declared proudly, opening a bottle of vodka for them.

The vodka tasted genuine. And there was caviar. The service was impeccable. The Russian waitresses were the best, attentive to the point of embarrassing them.

“Wonderful,” Vicky nodded.

“To China’s economic reform,” Rosenthal proposed.

Everybody raised a glass.

When Overseas Chinese Lu excused himself, Chen followed him into the rest room.

“I’m so glad you could come tonight, buddy,” Lu said, flushed from the vodka. “I’ve been so worried since I got that call from Wang.”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Yes, if everything Wang told me is true-and there is nothing else.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still a trusted Party member, or I would not be here tonight with the American guests.”

“I know you do not want to discuss the details with me-confidential, the Party interests, a cop’s responsibilities, all that crap,” Lu said, “but are you going to listen to my suggestion?”

“What kind of suggestion?”

“Quit your job, and become my partner. I have discussed it with Ruru. Just guess what she said? ‘Don’t expect to touch me ever again if you cannot help Chief Inspector Chen.’ A loyal woman, isn’t she? It’s not just because you managed to send us the Red Flag limousine for our wedding, or because you put in a word for her when she wanted to transfer her job. You’ve been such a wonderful friend to us. Not to mention the fact you gave us the biggest loan when we started Moscow Suburb. You’ve been part of our success, she says.”

“It’s very kind of her to say that, and you, too.”

“Now listen, I’m thinking about opening another restaurant, an international one-with American hamburgers, Russian cabbage soup, French fries, German beer-really international, and you’ll be the general manager. We’ll be equal partners. Fifty-fifty. You already made your investment when you gave me the loan. If you agree, I’ll have the necessary document notarized.”

“I know nothing about business,” Chen said. “How can I be your partner?”

“Why not?” Lu said. “You have taste. A genuine gourmet taste. That’s the most important thing in the restaurant business. And your command of English is definitely a plus.”

“I appreciate your generous offer, but let’s talk about it another time. The Americans are waiting for me.”

“Think about it, old buddy, for my sake, too.”

“I will,” he said. “Now, have you had a chance to talk to Peiqin?”

“Yes. As soon as I put down the phone, I went there to have a bowl of fried eel noodles. So delicious.”

“Did she tell you anything?”

“No, she seemed to be rather guarded-a detective’s wife. And there were so many people in the restaurant, but she mentioned that you were going to a karaoke party tonight.”

“I see,” he said. He had to take the Rosenthals to the party that night. “Anything else?”

“That’s about it. But another thing, Wang really cares about you. Give her a call-if you think that’s okay.”

“Of course I will call her.”

“A nice girl. We have talked a lot.”

“I know.”

Sitting alone at a table in the Xishuang Garden, watching the bubbles in her cup disappear, Peiqin was growing nervous.

For a second, she had almost lost herself in the magic of the night, which brought back past years. Here she was, in the elaborate dining hall with its bamboo floor, bamboo walls, and a variety of bamboo decorations. Waiters and waitresses were serving, dressed in their colorful Dai costumes. On a small bamboo stage at the end of the spacious hall, musicians played Dai melodies. During those years in Yunnan as an educated youth, Yu had often taken her to watch the Dais celebrating their festivals around the bamboo pavilions. Those girls had danced gracefully, their silver bangles shining under the moonlight, singing like larks, their long skirts blossoming like dreams. Once or twice, they had been invited into the Dai houses, where they chatted with their hosts, squatting on a bamboo balcony, and drinking from bamboo cups. As guests, however, they themselves had never danced.